My child, I have too much to say to write any longer!—I shall be drawn on too far and too long,—it is not far from daybreak now. Take the best possible care of your self, and 'be strong and of a good courage,' and 'the Lord that made heaven and earth, bless thee out of Zion'!
Precious child, you do not know how deeply I am
Always your own—
ENDECOTT."
The first lines of the letter wrung some tears from Faith's eyes, but afterwards the effect of the whole was to shake her. She sat down on the couch with the letter fast in her hand, and hid her head; yet no weeping, only convulsive breaths and a straitened breast. Faith was wonderful glad of that letter! but the meeting of two tides is just hard to bear; and it wakened everything as well as gladness. However, in its time, that struggle was over too; and she went down to Mrs. Derrick looking much like her wonted self.
She went about so, all the day; nervously busy, though never more orderly about her business. In the kitchen and dairy and storeroom, and with her mother, Faith seemed as usual, with a very little of grave thoughtfulness or remembrance thrown over her natural pleasantness; only she gave books a wide berth, and took care to see no face that came to the house. One would have thought her—perhaps Mrs. Derrick even did—quietly composed and patiently submitting to trial, as if Mr. Linden had been already weeks away. Perhaps Faith herself thought so. A little thing shewed how much this quiet was worth.
The day had been gone through; the tea was over, as it might, with the two alone; and mother and daughter had gone into the other room. Faith lit the lamp, and then began a sentence to her mother about laying the Bible in its place for prayer—when she stopped short. For a moment she stood still with the revulsion; then she fell on her knees and hid her face in Mrs. Derrick's lap, and the tears that had kept back so long came in a stormy flood; clearing the sky which had not been clear before. She was quiet really after that; she had no more fear of her books; and the first thing Faith did was to take pen and paper and pour out an answer to her morning's letter; an answer in which she gave Mr. Linden the history of her whole day, with very little reservation.
Her mother watched her,—sat and looked at her as she wrote, with eyes very glistening and tremulous in their fond admiration. Indeed that had been their character all day, though Mrs. Derrick had followed Faith in her busy work, with no attempt to check her, with no allusion to what they both thought of uninterruptedly. Now, however, that Faith's tears had made their own way, her mother's heart was easier; and she watched the pretty writer by the lamp with all sorts of sweet and tender thoughts.
A day or two passed, in great quiet and tender ministering to each other of the mother and daughter. Faith had taken deep hold of her studies again and every minute of the day was filled up as busily as ever. So the sitting-room wore in all things minus one its wonted aspect, when, the third evening, it received Dr. Harrison.
He came in looking remarkably well, in his light dainty summer dress, and with that gentle carelessness of movement and manner that suited the relaxing persuasions of a hot summer day. He came in, too, a little like a person who through long absences has forgotten how wonted he used to be in a certain place or how fond he was of what he found there. Nothing further from the truth!